


Exposed

by TheClumsyHero



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-08 01:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15232020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheClumsyHero/pseuds/TheClumsyHero
Summary: A simple outing to a choral concert makes for a perfect opportunity to a surprise a certain soprano. The lack of a particular mask is a huge step in their relationship, however, what lies beneath may not be truthful. Erik exposes his face, or so Christine thinks. All lies have consequences; and now Erik must live with the choices he's made. Modern AU





	1. Chapter 1

A choral concert; it was an odd request, but Christine had accepted regardless. As she prepared herself for the evening there was a sort of doubt that grew within the soprano's being. Erik was, of course, a lover of the arts. Music was arguably one of the most important aspects of his life, and yet she had never known him to be one to attend many performances outside of his typical scope; that of which included operas and musicals. He was a harsh critic if there ever was one, and Christine was certain she would be hearing a lot of hushed complaints and corrections from her date for the evening, but she would take it with a grain of salt.

Christine found she was eager to attend the concert; it was no secret she enjoyed music herself and it was always a treat to expand her knowledge and, occasionally, her repertoire. These sorts of events certainly helped.

A buzz alerted her to the man's presence, and Christine moved to allow him entry while pushing the last few bobby pins into her hair. She soon disappeared into the bathroom, allowing Erik to let himself into the apartment. She heard the door open and shut, and, after a few moments of silence, called out to her.

Christine appeared, stunning as ever. Though, perhaps saying she was stunned would have been a much more accurate term. She found herself frozen in place, blue irises scanning over the man's face once, twice; she nearly moved to rub at her eyes but halted upon remembering the makeup currently decorating her eyelids.

"Erik." The name was nothing more than a faint whisper.

There was a brief moment she wondered if she had managed to allow a stranger entry into her home, but the thought was quickly shaken from her head. No, she knew this man, even if he had taken her by surprise. She recognized that gait, knew the broadness of his shoulders and the pride in his stance. His posture and dress were immaculate and every hair on his head was in the proper place. The most telling feature, however, were those strong honey colored eyes.

It was almost ironic, for it wasn't the lack of features that took her by surprise, but the addition.

Without a mask, he certainly looked like a new man. His cheekbones were sharp and distinct, his nose straight— thin. Without the porcelain hiding his features she could tell just how exhaustion plagued his being but was more so taken back by the fact she was seeing him, all of him for the first time. He was a handsome man; it made her question why he ever felt the need to hide.

"You're staring; are you displeased?"

Christine blinked a few times, her gaze still fixed upon his features. It took her a few long seconds to completely digest the question and form an answer.

"What? Displea—no! No, not at all, no. Surprised, yes, very much so! Erik, you look so different! Not bad different just—different, that's all. I didn't even recognize you for a moment."

"Yes, well, I figured wearing the mask would draw more attention, something of which I would care to avoid so consider this as me going undercover by losing the very thing that hides my identity."

Christine smirked at that, and she couldn't help but notice the small smile tugging at his own lips. His emotions were plain as day now; she could grow used to such.

"Are you ready? I wouldn't want to be late."

"Oh, yes! Yes, of course. Let me just grab my purse and we can leave."

While she rummaged through her closet searching for her coat Erik couldn't help but take the time to also admire her. She was a thing of beauty, as always, and there had never been a time he hadn't been completely taken back by this unadulterated grace. Perhaps the lack of porcelain was a gift to her; for once he could indulge in the façade, he could give her some form of happiness no matter how minuscule and for once he could walk among the crowds as another face among the never-ending sea of individuals. She would never blend into that wave; not with her beauty and the glow she always carried about her wherever she went.

But Erik; Erik could afford to blend in for even just a single night.

"Alright, let's head out, then."

The not-so-phantom of a man beat her to the door and gingerly held it open for the lady. He received a sly smirk, and the two departed soon after.

It was dreadfully hard for Erik to miss the passing glances he received from the dancer throughout the evening. He supposed he could not blame her for her curiosity; he was showing her a side of him that was new and unfamiliar. She deserved to be inquisitive; after months of acquaintanceship and so much of himself hidden it was only natural she would want to gaze upon him; see him for what he was open and exposed to the world.

But she did so in glances rather than staring. It amused him so, but he refrained from mentioning such.

Even in the dimming light of the theater, he could see from the corner of his eye the gaze she held on his face and the slight smile across her own fair features. He truly felt overjoyed that he was capable of pleasing her so, all by removing the mask upon his face. A night of surprises and music would make a pleasant night, indeed; so long as they met his expectations which were, granted, not the easiest to hold up to and impossible to surpass. Of course, that was unless you were the woman at his side.

He was pleasantly surprised, for the most part, with the quality of the singers. They certainly were no Italian primadonnas with their heads too far up their own—anyway, the pieces were done well enough to keep his complaining at a minimum which was also a relief to the young soprano at his side. He had leaned over to mention how out of tune the violins were at one point but even Christine couldn't ignore the fact. It hadn't necessarily bothered her to the same degree as it had her mentor, but she agreed nonetheless.

There was a particular piece they seemed to do very well with; a newer one but beautiful nonetheless. The soprano solo was dreadful, and certainly an insult to the other sopranos within that choir and he briefly wondered who she knew to get the line. He leaned over to make another one of his snide remarks but was caught off guard with the sight.

Thin lines traced the girl's face; hot tears the culprit. It startled the man, for although Christine had always been an emotional woman, sadness was not something he saw often. To see her cry felt like some sort of indescribable tragedy; tears were not befitting of someone as beautiful as herself—beauty even with her gentle tears streaming down her thin cheeks. She was truly something beyond his comprehension.

"Christine, are you alright?"

She seemed somewhat startled by the question, her face turning to face his own. She faltered for a moment, before a thin smile bloomed across her features, sniveling all the while.

"Yes, yes I am, I'm sorry." Her words were hushed, and a thin laugh escaped.

"It's just so sad and—beautiful. I know this poem, Go Lovely Rose and it's just—beautiful. I've never heard it put to music before."

He had heard it before; understood the meaning but had not thought, had not really reflected on their situation. Was it really so different from his own beliefs? Go Lovely Rose; a man telling the woman of his fancy and that hiding her beauty like a rose in the desert will inevitably lead to her death, so she must go out and present her beauty to the world, allowing herself to be desired. The mortality bit was a part he would care to leave out, for thinking of Christine's death was too painful for his fragile mind, instead, he chose to admire the beautiful aspects, that she needed to show off her talents and allow the public to appreciate her just as he. Christine was his lovely rose; and oh, if only she knew how longingly he admired her.

Being so moved by music, by words and harmonies; it caused his heart to momentarily soar. It wasn't often Erik found himself becoming so brazen, but he had moved to gently brush away those tears with his gloved thumb, cupping her face with the rest of his hand.

"To be so moved by music is a gift."

Christine laughed once more and quickly nodded in agreement with the statement.

"Of course."

He felt their souls align, felt his heart pulse at her smile, as her hand entangled around his own and as she briefly leaned into his grasp. He tensed, every muscle in his being constricted as her warmth touched his skin, as warm tears dripped onto the leather and he froze.

How could such a thing of beauty exist in a world such as this?

Erik pulled back after that, placed his hands in his lap, rung his hands together with his heart still pounding against his chest. He would need to keep to himself for a while, he wasn't sure he could take much more for the rest of the evening. That was enough physical contact for now.

At the very least the rest of the concert had been uneventful; Christine seemed to enjoy herself and, even if he had some complaints, he instead resolved to ask her what her favorite pieces were and of her overall opinion on the performance. She spoke highly of it and it caused for some amusement from the man. She was generous to a fault, he would never understand how she did it. As they exited the building he felt her wrap her hands around one of his own deathly thin arms and once more his heart was soaring; she would truly be the end of him.

"Well, what now?"

The words caused him to momentarily falter.

"Hm?" It was all he could muster.

"What are we going to do? It isn't terribly late. Did you eat yet? Actually, I already know the answer to that. Why don't we watch a movie and get some take out?"

Erik pondered the question and enjoyed the warmth currently at his side. Dinner and a movie with her?

"That sounds fine."

It sounded wonderful.

There had been a slight sense of irritation that filled the Soprano, even if she did her best to hide such. Upon arriving at her apartment he had insisted on replacing the porcelain mask that cruelly hid the handsome features beneath. When he had reappeared from his trip to the bathroom and she had found the mask replaced she had been, understandably miffed, especially when he looked so handsome without that piece. Erik explained that it made him feel more comfortable, and while she couldn't see how that could possibly be, Christine chose not to push the matter further.

The pair had taken their places on her couch and Erik had resolved to watch one of Christine's movies. Perhaps she was somewhat cruel, knowing she could get her way, but Erik hadn't put up too much of a fight and he was relatively quiet. Seeing him pick at his takeout was also enough to put a smile on the woman's face. It wasn't the best meal but a content Erik—or, well, a quiet Erik practicing basic self-care made for a happy Christine. And he most certainly knew that.

Christine had been happy to point out some of the scenes that were her favorite but as the minutes ticked by he could see the exhaustion gnawing at her being. It had only taken around an hour before she had completely dozed off, slumped over on the taller man, head resting in the crook of his neck. His heart had begun to flutter and he hadn't been entirely sure what to do with his arms leaving him in a particularly awkward position but he dared not move for fear of waking the sleeping beauty.

He found himself in a precarious situation, golden hues watching her peaceful features. While he wanted so desperately to remain alert, to relish this contact he couldn't help but feel the wicked embrace of sleep was far too powerful. He knew his schedule was atrocious but he was typically able to fight it. This night was, unfortunately, not one of those evenings and it wasn't long before the phantom found himself dozing off, head tilted back, and his arm slowly finding it's way around the other's shoulders. Of all the times to sleep now was not the time he would have liked, however, he was near positive he had never been as peaceful as he was at that very moment. And although his mind was wandering, the last thought was one along the lines of him getting used to nights such as these.

When Christine awoke she was greeted by a faded Netflix menu and the offensive light of her lamp. There was also the surprisingly cool body beneath her own. Blue eyes had shifted to catch the sleeping face of the Phantom himself. Although sleep still surrounded her thoughts, she couldn't help but find a small smile blooming over her face. Seeing him so peaceful was enough to cause her heart to soar; never had she been able to see him so completely at rest. The only disappointment was that mask covering that handsome face.

A devious idea crossed her mind after that thought.

Christine shifted, careful not to stir or bump her sleeping tutor. She was careful as she maneuvered around his arm, a pale hand moving to grasp as the cool porcelain on his face. Her fingers wrapped around the cheek and she paused, watched for any sign of life, and then she slowly lifted the visor, a keen smirk on her pale face all the while. With one swift pull, the mask was off and the phantom's face was revealed. Christine felt her heart drop.

There were no words to accurately describe just how horrified the singer was, nor to describe the face that laid behind the mask. She had honestly believed she was dreaming, her mind was suddenly filled with an indescribable fog. This was not the face she had seen only hours earlier; this was hardly a face at all, this was the semblance of a face. It was pale—so incredibly pale and thin and it shook her to the very core. This was not the source of her angst, however, rather it was the nose of this man, or the lack thereof. A gaping hole served as the nose that never grew, it twisted her stomach, caused her throat to constrict and suddenly she felt as if she were drowning. The mask was quickly slid back onto the man's face, and the soprano was leaping from the couch in an attempt to escape from the Phantom beside her. She threw herself into the bathroom, clicked the lock, tried to stop the shaking of her hands, tried to regain her lost breath.

Oh God, God oh—she had to have been dreaming but no matter how many times she splashed her face with the freezing faucet water she remained painfully awake and aware of what she'd witnessed. What had she seen earlier? A prosthetic? Was this the reason for the mask—obviously. All of his past behavior was now all too clear; of course, he wouldn't want her to see, there was no one who would ever be able to handle that, no one could ever—

The knock on the bathroom door caused her to jump out of her skin.

"Christine? Are you alright?"

No, no she's far from alright she was the opposite of it and she couldn't think straight. All she knew was that, for the first time in her life, she understood and it was too much for her to bear. She was terrified and she hated herself for it.

"Erik I—I think you should leave for the night I—I'm unwell."

There was silence on the receiving end and it was agonizing. She jumped once again when a hand slammed against the door.

"I told you not to. I told you to leave it how many times! Well, now, are pleased? Are you happy with yourself!?"

Hot tears burned at her eyes, and a hand had to move up to her lips to keep her from sobbing. Oh, how could a man possibly possess such horrors?

"Dammit, Christine, why couldn't you just leave it be? Why couldn't you just listen? You've ruined everything!" Another bang, she found herself sliding against the wall—she was paralyzed.

At the very least she heard Erik's rage calming, and instead, it shifted into something much more heart-wrenching.

"You've ruined everything." She could hear the waver in his voice and was hyper-aware of the tears now falling even if she couldn't see him.

His footsteps soon became distant and she heard the door of her apartment slam. Although gone, she refused to move from her position and instead buried her face in her hands, allowing the tears to flow.

How could she ruin things so horribly?

____

He was inconsolable.

Erik was never a man capable of containing his rage; he had never properly learned to control his emotions, never learned to vent and never truly had anyone to speak with. His method of expressing himself was violent. He was a hurricane, leaving shattered glass and flipped furniture in his wake. She was never supposed to see; he thought he had appeased her with the fake, thought she would leave the mask be, but he had been foolish. He had gotten too comfortable and now he'd chased her away. He understood he was living on bided time; a wretched creature such as himself couldn't last in the company of an angel, but it hadn't meant he didn't want more.

A vase shattered against the ground and he relished the sound, the way it felt to hurl the object, the pain in his foot where the broken glass had pierced his skin. The apartment then fell silent, aside from the harshness of his breath and the beating rain outside. It was uncalled for, it was incredibly destructive and he could hear the criticism now; could see the look on her face—his nails dug into the sides of his head after that, interlocked with his now disheveled hair and tugged until it stung his scalp. No, no she was gone—she was gone because of him, just as always. He was destined to be alone, all monsters deserved such a fate.

That thought threw him into another fit; caused him to stalk around his apartment, once more enjoying the crunch of glass and stabbing pains that traced up his leg. It lead to overturned chairs, to the removal of his jacket and tie and left his shirt open, left himself so exposed but with the absence of a singer what was there to lose? He'd already lost everything; he lost the one he cared about—the only one who had ever cared about him all because of the malady he'd been cursed to bear.

So then why was it he saw her standing there?

Hallucinating? It had been a while since he had done such. But there she stood, wind beat, water dripping from her thin form, blonde hair stuck to her face and shoulders, a shiver racking her body and her eyes red—tears not visible but certainly they were there. How cruel life was, not only would he never see her but to see such a cruel illusion; seeing her so disheveled at his own expense infuriated the man.

He stared at the figure, eyes ablaze, the stinging in his foot very clear, keeping him alive and in the present, his lungs heaving from his earlier episode. What startled him was the way she peered about, the way her chest heaved and her face momentarily contorted as another sob racked her body. And then she approached. She flinched even as she drew near, and he watched the hesitation she had, watched as she took in the mess surrounding her.

And then the figure did something unspeakable.

She wrapped her arms around him; clung to him and squeezed him as if he would disappear if she let go. She cried all the while, face buried in his chest, leaving him standing completely motionless. Was this really—?

"Christine?"

Her grip tightened if that had even been possible, and another sob escaped her.

"Oh Erik I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Her face pulled away and her gaze rose to meet the mask, and then the burning eyes behind it.

"You—you deserved better, I never wanted to hurt you. Please, forgive me. I'm so sorry."

Sorry—sorry, he was sorry, she should never have been exposed to his own self, never should have seen what hid beneath, never should have to remember. His face was horrid; it was a sight no one could forget and a burden she need not bear.

He found his own arms wrapping around her small form and he held her as she held him, hot tears poured down, flooded his mask, drowned him but he dared not take it off.

"Christine, Christine, forgive me."

And they stood for some time in each other's embrace, tears falling between the two. They lost track of time but held each other even when the tears had stopped and the wounds were beginning to heal. At some point a bony hand had met with golden locks and began threading through them, causing her to momentarily tense, and ultimately relax in his hold; continued even now. She had finally taken the time to take in her surroundings with a clear mind, to take in the disheveled man.

"Erik, you're—you're bleeding."

"Mm."

"I'm tired."

"Mm."

"And so cold."

She paused after that, her hands grabbing at the fabric of his shirt.

"Let's watch a movie. On the couch. We can clean up in the morning."

Erik hesitated but relented. As they traveled to the couch she never once released her hold, whether it be around his hand or, when seated, around his middle. As they sat, listening to the hum of the television he could see the tiredness in her eyes, both emotional and physical. It hadn't taken long for her to doze off once more, not without another gentle apology.

He could never allow himself to hurt her again, not in such a wicked way. He realized just how blessed he was that she had decided to come back to him, to embrace him and weep for him. At the very least he was determined to make up for this misdemeanor. He could see the tremble in her body, felt it underneath his touch. And so he moved from underneath her, and instead scooped her up in his arms. She was still damp from the storm, but it could not be helped. Instead, he carried her off into her bedroom, placed her on the bed and carefully tucked the blankets around her sleeping form.

In the dim light, she truly looked like an angel; her face caused his chest to constrict. It was red; swollen eyes and flushed cheeks were very apparent and caused disgust to rise in his being. Her hair was still damp and wild, her skin pale. He never wanted to see her shed a tear, let alone over his own misfortunes. He would rather see her cry for beauty; cry for her love of music.

Never again would he see her weep for him. He couldn't be certain what exactly he could expect in the days following, and it left him with a building anxiety within his chest. It lead him to flee her room and to, at the very least, begin to pick up the mess he'd created in the home.

While it didn't fix their problems, it would at least lighten the soprano's heart. If he could do something as minor as that, he would be satisfied.


	2. Chapter 2

Christine awoke to an unwelcome pounding within her head. It caused a groan to come from the back of her throat, and her hands soon found themselves pressed against her temples trying to relieve the dull thrum. When she had thought of the gravity of the situation the night prior, grabbing an umbrella—or really anything that could have shielded her from the downpour hadn't exactly been her top priority. A rather lengthy sigh was what had escaped her next and as she grew used to the pain, she began to recount all that had transpired just hours earlier. She carefully sat upright while her sluggish brain attempted to start up, and she noted she had been moved at some point in the night. Although hours had passed she found her neck was still moist from the damp hair that had been pressing against it for the entire evening, it made her all the more grateful for the warm comforter currently entangled around her body; while there was still a chill that racked her spine it certainly couldn't compare to how she felt earlier. When a sharp pain surfaced just behind her eyes she gently lowered herself back onto her pillow and her hands moved to press against her closed lids. If she were being honest, she would have liked to simply remain in bed and hideout for the rest of the day, but she understood it simply wasn't possible.

The truth of the matter was that she was genuinely concerned. She knew Erik had always been somewhat of an emotional mess; he had always been a man of straight faces and shoving his feelings back down. Though she did know he could be one to lash out in certain circumstances. But last night—last night she had unleashed something within him she hadn't known existed and that genuinely scared her. She had never seen such a wild and unrestrained look in his eye; never had she seen him so violent and untamed and to this very moment it still caused anxiety to rise in her chest. She had wronged him, and terribly so, but never had she expected to find him in the state she had. It had broken her heart, and, in the moment, she wasn't sure if he would lunge at her as well. He hadn't, and it made her feel terribly guilty for ever thinking he would do such a thing, but there was still that nagging voice in the back of her head that told her to stay alert. Their relationship was fragile and would be for some time now; the least she could do was be gentle and give him time. And, of course, get up out of bed despite how lousy she felt.

With those thoughts in mind, she finally sat upright and gazed around the darkened room. She regretfully pulled herself out of bed and drew open the curtains to allow some light in, even if it had momentarily blinded her. It was then that she noticed a small stack of clothes laying on the dresser near the window. She walked over and examined them, quickly noting it wasn't any clothing she had owned but was laid out for her nevertheless. Erik had gone out, then, and she had no qualms in changing into the set left out for her. They fit her nicely and certainly complimented her figure—it was honestly almost amusing how well Erik knew her. After she finished admiring the new outfit her eyes finally met with her face and she was slightly taken back. She looked—horrible, there was no other way to put it in her mind. Her eyes were still red and slightly swollen, and it caused a deep frown to creep across her face. Mascara and eyeliner remarkably managed to remain on her pale face and were smudged under her eyes and on her cheeks. She grabbed some tissues and wiped the stains, but it left a red smudge in its place. She sighed but ultimately figured that red smudges were better than makeup in the long run.

Left without any concealer or foundation to cover the newly made flaws, Christine attempted to get her hair under control and finally moved to exit the room. She remembered the state the home was left in when she had fallen asleep by his side and it caused her to briefly hesitate. She didn't have it in her to deal with a mess like that—she was frightened to face Erik after what had transpired, she was scared he would realize he really was upset, scared that something was going to happen, and it did hold her back. She swallowed the fear and shook it from her aching head. She was a grown woman and she would have to face the consequences of her actions. With that thought in mind, she had gripped the handle and exited her room.

She had been more than surprised to find the apartment was spotless—at least for the most part. Most of the glass and furniture had been picked up and set in its proper place. It meant that Erik wasn't as far gone as she had previously thought and it certainly took a weight off her chest. She couldn't be sure even though there had been fresh clothes laid out for her; Erik always cared for her own well-being even if he, himself, wasn't mentally stable. But this had been a bright sign, and so she finally removed herself from the room and it was then music sprung to life. It was—dark, darker than anything she had ever heard. This was what had caused her heart to sink. She had come to learn that, although he wasn't an emotional man, he knew how to express such through his music. Her hands rose to rub at her tired face and, once she had built up some energy, she found herself wandering over towards the piano where the phantom sat composing. She knew he was aware of her presence; he was always hyper-aware of everything around him. While he hadn't turned to face her, he still gave the slightest nod when she approached and, after scrawling a few notes down, he began playing again and finally addressed her.

"Good Morning. I hope you slept well."

She could see he was being evasive; he would have normally been up on his feet by now—would have paid her a glance and taken her in but instead he sat, playing gentle notes that thankfully didn't irritate her already pounding head. She wanted to sigh but held back; she had really messed up this time—she had messed him up and she didn't know how on earth she was going to make this better. She decided it was best to take baby steps—literally. She slowly walked around to the front of the piano and his head tipped downward. While the action was upsetting, he was seemingly put together.

"You cleaned." She had commented, but she hadn't received a response. "I thought you were going to wait for me."

"It was my mess, I wouldn't expect you to pick up after me."

Christine brushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear with that remark, and finally, she allowed that sigh to escape.

"I wouldn't have mind."

"Well, there's no need to think about it anymore."

She paused after that and took him in once more. She remembered something from the evening before and her eyes slowly trailed down to the polished shoes currently adorning his feet.

"Erik, I hope you cleaned that out. That looked pretty bad last night."

He seemed somewhat lost, though still avoided her sharp gaze.

"Your cut, Erik. On your foot."

"Oh. It's fine."

"Does it hurt to walk on it? I would assume so. You'd say no either way. Such a stubborn man." She smiled with her comment, but he hadn't made a move either way.

She didn't want to stay here; not while he was in this kind of mood; he was shutting down and his answers were short and curt. He was in no mood to speak, she wasn't even sure if he wanted her around, but she wouldn't abandon him. She'd at least stay for the majority of the day before heading back to her apartment. It was becoming a habit to raise her hands and once more one found itself rubbing at her temple. Her eyes momentarily shut, and she allowed herself to exhale through her nose.

"I'm going to make breakfast. Do you want anything?" she already knew the answer before the question had even left her mouth.

"I'm not hungry."

"Of course not. Well, I'll make you something anyway in case you do decide to eat. I wouldn't want you to starve. I'll call you down when it's done; I hope you'll join me at the very least."

With that, she gave him one last look before she was turning on her heels and heading down the steps and into the kitchen. The tension was going to make for a difficult day. Erik was in no mood to talk and Christine wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and relax. But she had been the one to really cause the mood. Had it been under any other circumstances she would have happily left and gave him his time. In those cases, he would calm down in a short while and would be texting her before long as if nothing had happened. His moods were simply a fact of life but never had they been caused by her. It made her feel obligated to stay. She wanted to groan as she slid a few slices of bread into the toaster, but ultimately remained silent. It was fine; she would busy herself with other things.

She knew Erik would be stubborn and so she only made him a single piece of toast with some juice; if he even drank the juice she would have been satisfied. She knew how he could get when he was in a mood; granted, this was a particularly nasty one, but she would treat it as any other. She set down her plate as well as his and had left to grab two napkins and upon her return, she was surprised to find Erik joining her at the dining table and was even more surprised when he presented her with two pills after having pulled her seat out for her. He hadn't needed her to ask, her look was enough for him to cut her off.

"I thought it was safe to assume you had a headache." He sat himself down with that and watched her as if waiting for her to act.

Christine took the pills into her hand and gave them a once over before her gaze was returning to the man sitting beside her. She allowed a very gentle hum to escape the back of her throat before she nodded in response and swallowed them with her own glass of juice.

"I do. Thank you."

"I hope it helps."

And he did; he wanted nothing more than to help but his head and heart currently felt as though they were tearing themselves apart. Despite the foul mood he felt taking hold of his body he still cared about Christine and her well-being and the last thing he wanted was for her to feel unwell or unwanted. She should never have done what she had; he wasn't worth walking through the storm and now she paid for it. It caused a stabbing pain to enter his heart and he knew the perpetrator was guilt—or perhaps the hatred he always felt boiling beneath the surface. A combination of both would have been no surprise. It left him staring, his lips pursing, his brows furrowing beneath the mask.

And Christine noticed.

She had not understood the look or what caused it, but it made her want nothing more than to apologize even if she knew it was inappropriate. Apologizing again would have only brought up more negativity; it would have brought back the negative feelings even if they still lingered in the air. She figured she would handle it with keeping the saying 'you can't beat a dead horse' in mind. The damage had been done and words couldn't fix their current situation; what spoke was actions and she had a lot to make up for. She had invaded his personal space and had broken the trust between them and while he still was doing things that showed he cared she could tell he was still injured and she needed to make up for it.

"You should really eat something." She did care, and she understood she couldn't force him to do anything, but she wanted him to at least take care of himself. "Or at least drink some juice."

"I'm fine."

A sigh passed her lips and she decided it was best not to fight. She decided to eat and simply shrug it off for the time being.

It was going to be a painfully long day.

Erik had kept to himself for a good majority of the day. Christine had taken to tidying up what he had missed which, granted, wasn't much. Erik had been an unmovable force; he remained sour, but at the very least was still considerate of the woman within his home. She had spent most of the day dusting, doing small things while he occasionally disappeared in his room. She was accustomed his banging senselessly on his piano, though to him she knew it was anything but senseless and was, instead, filled with passion and all he felt but couldn't express outwardly and so he did so through his playing. But Christine was wiser than that. Erik had other instruments he took to playing but they couldn't handle as much abuse as the poor piano. She knew he was a skilled violinist, though she briefly worried for its well-being with its owner's current state of mind. She felt bad for the delicate instrument but so long as she continued to hear music she knew it was alright.

The day slowly ticked by and before long dinner had rolled around. Christine hadn't bothered with food for Erik, she already knew the answer she would receive. Not to mention he had always been adamant about her entering his room and she supposed now of all times it was not a wise idea to push the matter. So, instead, she made herself a can of soup, sat herself down in front of the television and listened to the faint sound of music that came from up the stairs. She finished quickly and as she washed up she noted the peculiar weight in her chest.

She felt too guilty not making him anything. She understood he most likely wouldn't be eating but she should try at the very least. She made the same underwhelming meal for the phantom composer and once it was heated up she grabbed the bowl and took it up to the man's room. She tapped on the door a few times and waited for any response. When he remained silent, she simply placed the bowl down by the door and stood herself back up, calling to the man inside.

"Erik, I made you dinner. I'm just going to leave it out here. Do what you will with it."

She figured there wasn't much else she could do and so she decided it best to take her leave. Besides, she knew that she had another long day ahead of her and she knew she would be exhausted either way, but at the very least she would be ready. As she made her way towards the front door she found herself abruptly halting. She had realized her house keys were missing from her person. While she was hesitant, she realized they could be anywhere and so she begrudgingly had to pull herself back up the steps and before long was standing before the closed door once more.

"Erik?" Silence, as she expected, but she continued regardless. "Where did you put my keys? I can't find them anywhere."

That had finally caused a stir behind the door. The music had halted, and she could hear movement as he glided about the room. It only took a few moments before she heard the knob creaking and she finally caught a glimpse of him after hours of avoidance. He held the keys in his hands and her gaze went from the ring to his face.

"Are you leaving?"

The tone of his voice had caught her off guard. Although he tried to hide it she could hear the yearning in his voice. He had not wanted her to leave but would never say such, could never say such because she knew he felt he had no place asking her to do so. It broke her, even if she knew it was in her best interest to leave, to freshen herself up and change and sleep in her own bed. She owed it to him; she could always leave in the morning. One more night wouldn't kill her.

"I was only wondering. I left pretty much everything else at home." She would grant him that security even if he hadn't wanted to spend it with her.

He seemed pleased with her answer and she was happy to find he had removed himself from his room and stalked around for a short while, at one point he poured a glass of water for himself and, while he was still refusing to eat anything, she was glad he had at least done what little he had. He had soon retreated up the stairs and it wasn't long before he was banging on the piano once more. It was times like these she wondered how on Earth he never received any noise complaints; she was sure she would never be able to sleep through it and especially not when it was so nonsensical.

Christine headed to bed early that night, not seeing much else to do and feeling the night before quickly catching up with her. She had been thankful the playing had stopped but it did nothing to help her ease into sleep. Her feelings still weighed heavily on her and her mind was continuously racing. If he continued to be the way he was there would be no way she would be able to escape the following morning without some sort of conflict. At times Christine could be weak-willed and especially under circumstances such as this; she had been the one in the wrong and she knew it and, even though he wasn't holding it over her head, she still felt the internal turmoil of wronging him so. At this point she wasn't even sure if he was still sore; his moods were always unpredictable, and he had yet to lash out at her.

She had only seen him in a true fury a handful of times—the night before, however, had been the worst she had ever witnessed. But that seemed more so directed at himself rather than at her own person considering the way he had welcomed her back into his arms. The times she had seen him so unruly were typically regarding the theater, and that anger was always directed at one figure (or figures) in particular. It was never physical, not like this, and she had been surprised to find he could be so overcome with emotion. It always came to pass, and she knew this would as well, she only wished she knew how long it would take for them to ease back into a place of familiarity.

While she knew they would certainly face a confrontation if she wasn't quick and quiet but the fact of the matter was that she had an obligation to her other friends and she couldn't cancel at this point. When Raoul's had asked her to join him for a week at his brother's lake house she had been overjoyed. Even if she hadn't been entirely certain Phil even liked her the week with Raoul would be well worth it. What made things even better, however, was that he had told her to invite Meg along too. She had been overjoyed when she had received the invitation, though Christine was near certain she would have been thrilled with any offer. A week without dance rehearsal was one she would always take advantage of. But for Christine it was a week she greatly looked forward to, it was one that would be spent with two of her dearest friends in the world.

But the thought of fun and excitement needed to be pushed aside for the time being. For now, she needed to concern herself with getting out without a hitch before she would meet up with Raoul.

The night had been filled with a fitful slumber and hours of staring at the ceiling. She had grown accustomed to the sounds that arose in the phantom's home; she could begin to hear the creaking in the floor, she could hear his footsteps and could accurately predict where he was in the home. At some point, he had entered his room where he paced and paced and paced. And all the sudden things fell silent. She didn't know what had caused the silence, but it persisted even as the sun began to rise, and it was finally time for her to follow in its footsteps. The silence held, and her heart leaped in her chest. If she ever had a chance it was now, and she took it.

Christine pulled herself from the bed and carefully crept over towards the door. She winced with each creak and held her breath as she twisted the knob and gently pushed open the door. She almost expected Erik to appear and question her reason for being up so early. But it never came, and so she continued on her way, gently closing the door behind her and creeping towards the steps. She went down step by step, silently inching her way towards the door, always peeking over her shoulder and seeing nothing. It quickened her pace and lead her to the door which she quickly unlocked. Her hand gripped the knob, turned it, went to pull—

"Christine?"

She felt herself visibly jump at the sound of his voice. She could feel her heart beginning to hammer against her chest, could hear him approaching her and the beats became more frequent and choked her. The silence was deafening, and she felt as though storm clouds were looming over her head.

"What are you doing? It's so early."

She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned on her heels so that she could face him. He looked worse than before; he was completely exhausted and disheveled, and it only heightened her anxiety.

"I was going to go home. I couldn't sleep. I need to shower and clean up and sleep in my bed."

"I could have gotten you clothes—anything else you needed."

"I couldn't ask you for that, Erik."

"You didn't need to."

She released a shaky breath with his response and it caused her to shift in place.

"I have things that need to get done, Erik. I can't stay here forever."

"It's Sunday, what do you have to do?"

Her lips pursed, and for some reason, she found it near impossible to meet his gaze. She knew it would cause her to crumble, whether from fear or guilt she knew not. What she did know was that she could feel the emotions building in him and she knew she wanted to avoid it at all costs.

"I made plans a while ago and I'd like to be ready early, so I can get some rest."

"Plans. Of course."

She could feel it. She knew the onslaught was close, knew this would only lead to problems.

"Plans with whom, if I may ask?"

Christine knew she needed to be careful; although she had been such a wide-eyed, positive girl, she wasn't ignorant. She knew Erik had a particular distaste for Raoul, and she also knew lying would never work with him. She had to choose her next few words carefully.

"School friends. We're going away for the week."

"School friends."

While it was in no way a question she nodded her head in response to the repeat. The next words sent a chill down her spine.

"It's the blonde, isn't it? That patron—Raoul. He will be there, won't he? It's a week with him, isn't it?"

His anger built with each word and it caused her anxiety and fear to rise.

"Erik, we're friends, we've known each other for years."

But he hadn't wanted to hear it. She was completely taken by surprise when two strong hands grabbed at the sides of her arms and practically pulled her away from the door. A surprised squeal had escaped her lips and finally, her eyes met with his own and her fear reached new levels. They were filled with a fury she had never seen before; this was an Erik she had never seen before and it truly frightened her.

"Erik, stop please—"

"He's a pig, that's what he is, Christine! Of course, you would be leaving me after everything, oh I had expected that but leaving me for him? I should have seen it coming."

"Erik, please, you're frightening me, it's not—"

His grip tightened, and his rage only grew.

"Raoul—men like him are pigs, undeserving of someone like you! Men like him are only looking for one thing and you're nothing more than another mark on his list!"

The sound of flesh meeting porcelain resounded throughout the home.

There was a dull thrumming in her hand but at the moment it went unnoticed. The pair simply stood, staring at each other, both slightly riddled with shock. Tears stung at her eyes and any rage he had felt only moments earlier had completely drained from his features. Instead, he stood, one hand still weakly holding her wrist, the other raised to place itself upon the afflicted area.

Christine was heaving, biting back sobs but failing as tears began to roll down the sides of her cheeks. Her hands were shaking, and the pain began to truly surge through her. But she bit through it anyway.

"He is a gentleman and he is my friend. I'm worth more than that and—and he would never use me like that. Raoul de Chagny is an upstanding man who I am glad to call my friend. How—How dare you speak of him that way. I won't stand for it."

And with that, she freed her other hand from his grasp and stormed the door. She slammed it behind her without so much as a second glance. Her pace only heightened as she made her way out of the complex. It wasn't until she finally reached her home, wasn't until she was finally able to stop, and sit did she allow herself to truly let out all that she felt.

She had never seen him like that before; he had never laid a finger on her, and she had never even let the thought grace her mind that he would ever do such a thing. She couldn't believe she had done what she had, knew she most likely destroyed any shred of a relationship she had left, but she did what she felt best. She wouldn't be handled like that and she wouldn't allow him to speak ill of a dearly beloved friend.

Her hands moved to wipe away her tears and she did her best to catch her breath. She wanted to cry, wanted to break down but she had had enough of that. Instead, she entered her bathroom and decided to shower. She was defending herself. She was defending her friend. And although she had struck him, she hadn't regretted it.

Christine didn't know where they stood, or if they could even mend the issue at this point, but she couldn't be upset with herself for defending Raoul. If Erik wanted to hold that against her then so be it, she would take it for what it was.

God, she wished that thought had brought some comfort, but it hadn't. All she could do was try to focus on the positive and enjoy herself at the lake.

It would, at the very least, give both parties time to adjust to all that had happened that weekend and decide where they were when she returned. While she may not have liked it, it was all they could do. All she could do now was leave their fate to time itself.


End file.
